


Date Night

by Greyias



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Dating, F/M, First Dates, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Rating May Change, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-06 22:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyias/pseuds/Greyias
Summary: When the coordinates for Odessen go up for auction, Theron and the Commander have to head to Nar Shaddaa to try and stop the sale.





	1. Alleyway Espionage

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a series of prompts over on Tumblr. First prompt: Sweet Affectionate Moments Prompts - 15. A Hope We Don’t Get Caught Kiss

A dark Nar Shaddaa alleyway wasn’t exactly where Theron had wanted to spend Zhellday night with his girlfriend, but he hadn’t exactly had a choice in the matter. Partially because he needed to stay incognito to observe his target, but also partly because he had _really_ tried to leave her behind.

Chatter in the underworld indicated that the coordinates to Odessen had been leaked and someone was attempting to sell them to the highest bidder. Lana was remaining behind on base to trace the source of their leak while Theron took it upon himself to bust up the sale before Arcann could get his hands on the location of their homebase. 

But apparently Greyias Highwind was a particularly stubborn breed of Jedi, and wasn’t very adept at picking up the subtle hints Theron kept dropping (in the war room, on the walk to the shuttle, on the entire flight to Nar Shaddaa) that he was a professional and this was something he could handle on his own. It was his and Lana’s job to sniff out and handle these sort of threats, and it was the Commander’s job to handle the heavy hitters and the impossible missions no one else could pull off.

Also she didn’t blend in. Like at _all_. What with the giant colorful pauldrons doubling the size of her shoulders, a cape that liked to billow dramatically at the slightest flutter of a breeze, and her penchant to strike heroic poses without realizing it, she had a tendency to command attention wherever she went. It worked well when she needed to make a big rousing speech, less so when Theron needed to blend into the shadows to keep some opportunist from selling the location of their secret rebel base.

So right now the best he could do was try and make her hide behind a particularly odious dumpster as she scanned the crowd bustling through the Promenade with a very fancy set of macrobinoculars. Theron was pretty sure that he’d seen Deena Riss using something of the like when she had been facing off with the Shroud. He tried to suppress an unexpected burst of jealousy that his Jedi girlfriend had cooler spy tech than him, _the professional spy_ , and instead tried to focus on narrowing down the bands on his audio feed. He’d had time to plant a few bugs in strategic locations throughout Lucent Square, but they still needed a little more calibration. Normally he’d have done a broad spectrum analysis beforehand so he didn’t have to try and manually tune everything, but there really hadn’t been time.

“Any movement yet?” He asked offhand, more focused on his datapad’s display and the monotonous drone in his ear than anything that was happening in the square.

“No. Are you sure this is where they’re supposed to be?”

He gave a small nod, still trying to tune out the competing frequencies. “Intel says there’s some sort of meeting that’s supposed to take place in front of that eyesore of a statue.”

“That seems a little harsh.”

“Have you _seen_ the hat on top of it?”

“I have.”

“I rest my case.”

“I think the original hat is quite fetching up close,” she said haughtily, “especially in its actual color.”

Theron paused in his calibrations to give her a skeptical look. “Do I even want to ask how you know what Karagga’s hat looks like up close?”

“I was on the strike team that stormed his palace.”

“Of _course_ you were.” Theron sighed. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, “let’s return to your poor taste in hats.”

“It’s a nice hat!”

“It’s a bell with a spike on it!”

“And it coordinated really well with his cape!”

“Let me guess, ‘it was a really nice cape’?”

“From the tone of your voice it doesn’t sound like you really believe that.”

Theron was starting to get an idea why she didn’t exactly have much variation in her wardrobe back on Odessen. Well, other than the fact that she had been frozen in carbonite for five years and lost most of her worldly possessions in the ensuing years. Okay, when he thought about it like that, maybe he shouldn’t make fun of her fashion sense so much—even if it was pretty objectively terrible.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little surprised that you have cape envy. For a Hutt gangster of all people.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, what with the jealous way you’ve been glaring at my macrobinoculars all evening.”

He was about to snap out a response, when a high-pitched noise shrieked in his earpiece. He winced and yanked it out of his ear. “What the hell?”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t—”

Theron ignored her, and instead snatched the macrobinoculars from her hands. He didn’t listen to her indignant protest, more intent on scanning the Promenade. The bench where the meet was supposed to take place was still empty, but a tall Nikto had taken a keen interest in the column where Theron had hidden one of his bugs. He tapped a few of the intricate controls on the macrobinoculars, and they zoomed in on a device in the Nikto’s hands. It was a signal interceptor, a counterintelligence device that was able to piggyback onto encrypted transmissions. He let out a quiet curse.

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone just found one of my bugs, and I think—oh yeah. Yeah, he’s turning this way. Quick follow my lead!”

“Your—”

The question didn’t even finish forming, ending in a startled squeak as Theron grabbed her and shoved her up against the wall. He also quickly stowed the macrobinoculars into a pocket so it wouldn’t be seen. It was Nar Shaddaa, so normally two shady figures skulking in an alleyway wouldn’t be an immediate cause for alarm. However anyone used to trading in stolen information would definitely be spooked by seeing a Jedi, which Grey so _very_ obviously was. If the seller realized that the Alliance was on to him he’d probably disappear—and they might not be in a position to prevent the next sale. It was unclear if the Nikto was the buyer or seller, and if they took him down without knowing it might just make the situation even worse. Theron wasn’t sure if he could completely cover her up from the Nikto’s line of sight, but he did his best, crowding in close.

“What are you doing?”

Without any preamble, Theron captured her lips in his, silencing her just as the alleyway was filled with the sound of heavy footfalls. She caught on fairly quickly, returning the kiss with fervor, one arm braced against his chest, while the other speared through his hair. Normally he would have happily gotten lost in the soft feel of her lips pressing against his, in the way her tongue dancing against his lit a fire deep within his belly—but he couldn’t afford to let his attention wander. This was the real reason he had tried so hard to keep the personal and professional spheres of his life separate. It complicated things, divided his focus and made it hard to solely devote his mind to the task at hand. One slip at the wrong moment could prove deadly.

He tried to calculate how quickly he could pull his blaster and get a shot off as a long, tall shadow cut through the alleyway. Theron adjusted his stance, turning his back more to the entrance to the alleyway in an attempt to cover up those ridiculous pauldrons—even as the action made the back of his neck feel itchy. Through narrowed slits, he caught a reflection off the scratched up hull of a speeder heap in the back of the alley, and watched as the Nikto paused at the entrance to the alleyway. The alien seemed to spot the two of them with ease, and eyed the overzealous public display of affection with great scrutiny. 

Theron was just starting to wonder if he needed to alter tactics, attempt to take out the tall alien with one of the stun darts in his bracers when the shadow at the entrance to the alleyway retreated, and the light from the Promenade flooded back in. He gave it a few more seconds just to be safe before he broke away from the kiss and peered over his shoulder to confirm that they were alone again.

He let out a sigh of relief, stepping away from the grimy wall and giving Grey some breathing room as well. Some of the hair had escaped her ponytail, and she looked a little breathless, fingers ghosting across her lips. Normally he’d take that as a compliment, maybe rib her a little, but he didn’t have time to indulge in that (or the effect their impromptu makeout session had on him) — and he brought the macrobinoculars back to bear. 

The device quickly picked their target back up, and narrowed in as the tall alien made a quick holocall. The HUD flashed a readout as it tried to identify the frequency the call was on, but the conversation was too quick. Theron was able to make out a few words. His Nikto was rusty on the best of days, and even more so when he was trying to read lips. Something about a change of location and time.

“What’s he saying?” A quiet voice near his ear asked after a few moments.

He kept watching, catching the tail end of the conversation. Something about wanting more money. And a name: the Gilded Lily.

“I think,” Theron said carefully after a few moments, “we’re going to need to change our dinner plans.”

“We didn’t _have_ dinner plans,” she said slowly.

“We do now.” Theron lowered the macrobinoculars and tossed a sidelong glance at the Jedi eyeing him curiously. “Although I’m going to have to get you out of that armor.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Even under the neon lights he could see the color rush to her cheeks.

“And into something a bit more formal.” Theron tilted his head back across Lucent Square, and just barely out of sight was the glittering lights of the most prominent restaurant in the entire Promenade. “Looks like trouble is on the menu for tonight.”


	2. Dress Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 18: "This is without a doubt your stupidest plan yet. If course I'm in."

“I don’t think this is going to work, Theron.”

The spy in question looked up from his datapad, fingers pausing on the line of code he was in the midst of, _ahem_ , altering, to see the Commander of the Alliance, righter of wrongs, champion of justice, looking possibly the most defeated he’d ever seen her. He glanced at their surroundings in confusion, taking in the racks upon racks of what passed for modern fashion in their galaxy, and then back at her.

“Why not?”

“None of these options are practical.”

He arched an eyebrow. “They all look fine for our purposes. Just pick any of them.”

“There’s no pockets!” She exclaimed. “Or… _pants_.”

“Yeah, kind of the point of a dress.” The urge to roll his eyes was strong, and he picked up the first article of clothing within arms’ reach and held it out to her. “What about this?”

“No!” She eyed the tiny scrap of fabric masquerading as a garment as if it would bite her. There was a chance if she stretched it just the right way it would be able to cover her basic modesty (if she used the Force — which Theron _really_ wanted to see). “Why can’t I just wear what I have on?”

* * *

“Well, for one, we’re heading to one of the nicest restaurants on Nar Shaddaa. They’ve got a dress code.”

“My armor is very nice. Look at the embroidery on my cape.”

“And secondly, we’re trying to _blend in_ to catch both the buyer and the seller in the act and plug this leak for good. Your current getup kind of screams ‘Jedi’.”

“I am a Jedi.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” he said as patiently as he could, “ _painfully_ aware, but the whole point of this undercover thing is that no one else actually knows that.”

“I know what undercover means, Theron.”

“This argument begs otherwise.”

“I was able to successfully convince everyone on Rishi I was a pirate,” she pointed out.

“ _I_ did that with the false data trail I planted for you! You just wore an eyepatch.”

“And a frock coat!”

He just gave her a look, and she returned it ten-fold, crossing her arms. “I’m _not_ wearing that tube top.”

“It’s a dress,” he corrected.

“H-how is that supposed to—? No, wait, I don’t want to know, and I’m definitely _not_ wearing it.”

“Well, fine,” he ground out, “I’ll change this reservation to be for one. You can play lookout from the street if you don’t want to dress the part.”

“Reservation?”

“I have to get in close enough observe the handoff _somehow_ , although it would have been a much more convincing cover if I’d had a ‘plus one’ with me. Maybe I can just pretend my date stood me up.”

“That’s just rude. Who wouldn’t show up for a planned outing?”

“Well, apparently my girlfriend because she has a vendetta against the entire concept of _skirts_.”

“I need pockets, Theron!”

“For what?”

“My lightsabers!”

“You can’t bring lightsabers into—” he realized his voice had been rising and he glanced around self-consciously before lowering it, “you don’t bring lightsabers to a date at a fancy restaurant. And they don’t fit into pockets anyway!”

“I thought you said this was an undercover operation. Not a date.”

“It is—and I thought you said you weren’t coming.”

“This is the stupidest plan I’ve heard you come up with yet—and that includes making me act like a _pirate cannibal_ —but I’m not letting you go in alone.”

“So you’re in?”

“Of course I’m in!”

“Okay, go pick out a dress. I’ll change the reservation back to two.”

He tried to suppress the grin he felt forming, but from the exasperated huff she let out, he was probably unsuccessful. She seemed naturally drawn to the less gaudy and risqué outfits (sadly), and had drifted over to a rack of tasteful sundresses — ironic considering the lack of natural sunlight on the Smuggler’s Moon. However, the shops on the Promenade catered to every walk of life, including the more conservatively inclined. As long as their clientele had the credits, the shopkeepers didn’t really seem to care all that much.

Theron returned his attention to the datapad, confirming that he’d successfully altered the reservation list for that evening. It really hadn’t been that difficult, even on Nar Shaddaa most restaurants didn’t really take many precautions to secure their networks so that even the most rudimentary of slicers couldn’t wreak a little bit of havoc. And Theron’s skills were far from rudimentary.

When he finished, she had apparently made some sort of decision. She had an aqua-colored sundress pulled from the rack, and was eyeing it critically in one of the full-length mirrors that had been set up in the shop.

“You know, that color really sets off your eyes,” he said quietly, approaching her from behind.

“My eyes are a different shade of blue.” She glanced at him through the mirror, eyebrows raising as he stepped in closer, to where he could easily wrap his arms around her waist if he wanted to. 

“Still looks good on you.”

The slightest bit of color rushed to her cheeks. “Flatterer.”

“Truth teller.”

She snorted at that. “Well, it still doesn’t solve the matter of how I’m bringing my lightsabers in.”

“Dead set on that, are you?”

“Am I really supposed to believe that you’re leaving your blasters behind?”

He tilted his head in a self-conscious manner. “I might have an inner-pocket on my jacket that they fit into nicely.”

“Wait—you’re wearing _your jacket_ into the restaurant? How is that fair?”

“It’s within the dress code!” Theron protested. “My look is carefully crafted to allow me to blend in to almost any environment.”

“You look like a traffic hazard light!”

“And yet somehow _I_ don’t announce my presence like a police siren wherever I go. Fancy that.”

A light elbow to his gut forced him back a few inches. “This better not be another complaint about me looking too much like a Jedi.”

Sensing he was about to tread on some very dangerous ground, he decided that at least in this particular case, caution was the better part of valor, and held his hands up in surrender. “In that dress? Not a chance.”

The arched eyebrow relaxed a little, but she didn’t seem particularly mollified. “I haven’t even tried it on and I already feel naked.”

Compared to the skin-tight ensemble that Theron had initially suggested, the dress she was holding now was practically full-plated armor. Sleeveless, yet light and flowing, he had a feeling it would accentuate her curves nicely, but still cover everything in a manner that was still classy and tasteful. 

“Is the lack of pants really that bad?”

“No, I just… a Jedi shouldn’t be without her lightsabers. Even if she’s undercover.”

The breath Theron let out wasn’t really a sigh, more of an exhalation of understanding. The missions where he’d been without a proper blaster had been where he’d felt most exposed. Apparently even having the Force as an ever-present ally didn’t quite alleviate the feeling of security that a familiar weapon imparted. “Why don’t you see how that fits? I’ll try and find something that will help you feel a bit more covered.”

Her anxious expression softened to something akin to gratefulness, and he couldn’t ignore the twisting deep in his chest when she looked at him like that. His gaze trailed after her as she disappeared into one of the changing rooms, only able to pull his attention back to the present when the door swooshed shut. With a shake of his head, he tried to focus back on the task at hand.

It was probably better that the dress she had picked out had more of a flow to it than the initial one he’d suggested as a joke. It would be far easier for the bulge of her twin sabers to disappear into the voluminous folds of fabric than trying to find a more, ah, _creative_ solution to the issue at hand. He valiantly ignored the direction his brain was trying to take in regards to that thought, and was probably only successful because the rack he had wound up at offered up the perfect solution — although he had a feeling his other half probably wasn’t going to completely agree.

He ambled back over to the dressing area, trying not to feel quite as lecherous as he felt holding women’s undergarments—probably more a credit to his present company’s comfort level combined with the distant memory of Ngani Zho’s intense disapproval of Theron’s _first_ encounter with lingerie than any actual shame. He was a trained spy after all.

She emerged from the changing room, bare feet stepping lightly on the lush carpeted floor. They would still need to pick out a sensible pair of shoes to coordinate with the outfit. Maybe some flats, or a pair of sandals, something with mobility—

That rational train of thought ended with a lurch, his gaze tracing up the well-toned, freckle-kissed calves to watch as the light blue material twirled effortlessly in the air as she twisted, trying to gauge the fit of the dress. The skirt flared out with each twist of her hips, the fabric flowing loosely and effortlessly. A simple brown sash gathered it at the waist, although it was probably meant to be tied together with a more elegant bow than the hasty knot currently in place. The neckline plunged just low enough to give Theron a very nice view, but was still both tasteful enough, not to mention would be sensible and supportive if they had to leap into action. And if he was being honest, the color really _did_ bring out her eyes. It was perfect— _too_ perfect. No one would suspect that she was a Jedi in disguise, but they’d still not be able to take their eyes off her, if his own reaction was anything to go by.

“I don’t know,” she said, still twisting to try and look at the ensemble in the mirrors that lined the shop. “I’m not sure if it’ll work.”

“It will,” he said a little too quickly, trying to clear his throat when she gave him a funny look. “I, uh, found you something.”

He quickly held up the set of lacy black garters he’d found as a peace offering. Not that Theron wasn’t intensely curious to see how she looked in them (another place, another time—he reminded himself firmly), but they would provide quick and efficient access to her lightsabers if things went south. That particular argument didn’t really seem to form coherently on his lips though, and he watched as a deep scarlet rushed over all of her features. 

Normally that would have him cracking some sort of joke, but he was still trying to shove down his own unexpected reaction. He’d seen plenty of attractive men and women wearing every piece of fashion imaginable — this simple little dress in a sketchy clothing boutique on the Promenade was nothing special and should not have shorted out his brain as effectively as it had. Damn it, when did he become such an idiot? He was clearly losing his edge.

“I—what is… are those…?”

“I know what it looks like,” he managed to croak out, “but it’s for your lightsabers.”

“Oh.” She hesitantly reached out, grabbing them with two fingers. “I suppose that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah.” Theron cleared his throat. Again. “You just… put those on, I guess? Um, I probably should go pay for everything.”

“Right. Yes.”

“Don’t want to be late for the meet-up. Have bad guys to catch.”

“No we don’t. That’s the point of this, right?”

“Yeah… I’m just going to—go.”

He was starting to suspect that she was right. This was a _really_ stupid idea—but they had already gone this far. Might as well see how it turned out. Maybe if he just focused on the task at hand, he wouldn’t make a spectacular ass out of himself. (Or more of one.)

Damn it, how did he get himself into these situations?


	3. First (Fake) Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 87. “Hey! I was gonna eat that!”

The problem with the Gilded Lily was that even with a reservation (or pilfered one in their case), the line stretched out nearly into the street. Theron peered around the large crowd of people between them and the maître d’, unable to determine exactly how long this was going to take to get seated. If absolutely necessary, he could probably cause some sort of distraction that could clear the way, although that would likely gather a little too much attention for their purposes. His companion was doing enough of that at the moment, leaning a little too far with each step and wobbling unsteadily.

“I thought Jedi were supposed to be graceful,” he said quietly as she leaned back trying to overcompensate, latching onto his arm.

“Why did you pick out these shoes?” she hissed back. “I don’t see how anyone can stand in these things.”

“Walk on the balls of your feet,” he suggested, deciding that he should probably appear somewhat helpful. Better than revealing that half of his reason for picking out the golden stilettos was that the sway of her hips when she had tried them on had effectively shorted out his brain.

“I _am_ standing on them,” Grey insisted, hand not leaving its vice-like grip on his arm, “but this is not practical footwear.”

“We just have to look the part long enough to get in close enough to identify both the buyer and the seller, and make sure they’ve got the data on them. You’ll be sitting down most of the time.”

“I don’t see why that requires heels,” she pouted.

Theron resisted rolling his eyes, and just pointed to the rest of the ladies milling about in line, or visible inside the restaurant’s patio — and about eighty percent of them were wearing similar shoes. Her lower lip protruded as she took that in, face still set firmly in a frown. The disdain over her current footwear was just the latest in a series of recurring complaints. At least it was a far less distracting one than her annoyed mutter about how uncomfortable it was to feel her thighs constantly brushing together, or the long diatribe on how the underwire on the bra she’d had to change into kept digging into her ribs. He was fairly proud of the fact that he’d managed to stay as focused on the mission as he was despite the fact that she kept obliviously reminding him of the very attractive form underneath that dress.

The line moved up and despite the tight grip on his forearm, she wobbled with the next step they took. One of the Veltrons hanging off the arm of a Neimoidian looked back at the unsteady Jedi with a disdainful look, and Theron immediately adjusted his grip, pulling his arm free so he could wrap it around Grey’s waist and steady her. The Veltron sniffed haughtily, but quickly lost interest.

“What are you doing?”

“Hopefully convincing our fellow patrons that I brought an actual person with me on this fake date and not a newborn equus learning how to walk for the first time.”

“I know how to walk!” she protested. “It’s just these stupid heels.”

The phrase “just use the Force” was almost out of his mouth, but he quickly thought better of it as she leveled him with a dark look, as if sensing his next words. So he bit back on that and instead said, “You’re attracting attention.”

“I’m not _trying_ to,” she huffed quietly, “but I am also not sure what I’m supposed to be doing right now.”

“For now, just pretend like you’re my girlfriend.”

“I _am_ your girlfriend!”

“Good, then you should already know how to play this part.”

That earned him a glare and a sharp pinch to his side. “That is not helpful.”

He let out an annoyed sigh, but before he could respond the line in front of them opened up, finally clearing a path between them and the maître d’s station. He tightened his grip around her waist, and she leaned into him as they approached it. With the extra support, any wobbliness just appeared like any overly affectionate couple on a date.

“I am not in my element here,” she added softly as they stopped in front of the empty station, waiting for the maître d’ to return.

“Just follow my lead,” he muttered absently. Now that they were right at the entrance, he had a better view of the tables inside the restaurant. He quickly glanced around, but there was sign of the Nikto from earlier. “Act natural, like you would on any date.”

There was silence at his side, almost unnoticed by him as he kept scanning the tables. From what he’d gathered from the reservation list he’d sliced into, the sale would take place out on the balcony overlooking the Promenade — but there was no telling if either the buyer or seller had thought to bring extra muscle and stash them throughout the restaurant.

“And how would you do that?” came the quiet question after a long pause.

“Do what?”

“Act… on a date?”

He frowned, looking back to see an uncertain expression across her face. “You _have_ been on a date before, haven’t you?”

“This… might be my first.”

If there had been any convenient holes to crawl into, Theron might have done so — mission or no. He had a tendency to get absorbed into the job, so much so that it was easy to forget the normal boyfriend things. Between the natural rhythm they’d fallen into since their reunion on Odessen, and the long five years they’d been apart, sometimes it slipped his mind that this relationship thing was just as much of an oddity for her as it was for him. Perhaps moreso, since somehow between the two of them he had more experience with actual romantic relationships — which considering that it hadn’t even occurred to him to take his girlfriend of several months out on a single date _once_ in all that time, probably didn’t bode well long-term. Adding in the fact that now their first one wasn’t even real, combined with his general irritability this entire evening had him flashing her a look of contrition.

Unfortunately this was also the moment the maître d’ decided to reappear, and Theron had to slip back into his role for the evening — the attentive and smooth boyfriend he very clearly was _not_ — and fixed a wide smile back in place for the benefit of their cover.

“Do you have a reservation?” The well-dressed Kroctari asked in the nasally tone typical of his species.

“Yes,” Theron answered smoothly, “it should be located under Balkar. Jonas Balkar.”

The Kroctari wheezed in response and pulled up the datapad to confirm the reservation, completely missing the arched blond brow quirked in Theron’s direction. He narrowed his ever-so-slightly at her in warning, but kept the wide smirk fixed in place as the maître d’ looked back up at them.

“Ah, right this way, Mr. Balkar,” the Kroctari’s pronunciation of the name sounded almost more like a burp, “we have your usual table set up on the balcony.”

They made it to the table without any incident, even with the climb up the stairs. He decided that the fingers digging into his side hard enough to leave a bruise were probably justified considering he was the architect of this awkward evening. Grey sunk into her seat with a quiet sigh, seemingly grateful to be off her feet, and Theron took a moment as he sat down to scan the area. Their table was off in the far corner, and had a good vantage point of the entire restaurant. The table that had been marked for the Nikto from the Promenade on the reservation list he’d sliced into was still empty, waiting for its occupants to arrive.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief. There was still time to turn this whole botched operation around.

“Trouble?”

“Not yet,” he said after a moment, “looks like we got here first.”

“Well, that’s not surprising. I thought you were going to force your way through that line for a moment there.”

Theron had the grace to look slightly chagrinned. “The thought had crossed my mind, I won’t lie.”

“I know you’re concerned about the mission, Theron,” she reached out across the table, wrapping her fingers around his where they rested on the rather large drink menu, “but it will be fine. I promise.”

He tried not to let his frown show, but it was a struggle. It was difficult to not take this whole thing a little personally. It was his job to take care of everything, make sure he sniffed out anyone unfriendly to the Alliance before they ever made their way onto Odessen. It was the only place in the galaxy relatively safe from Arcann’s considerable influence, and now even that wasn’t certain unless he didn’t screw this up. Considering the woman sitting across from him was on the top of Zakuul’s Most Wanted List, that made the stakes pretty high.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that, he needed to keep his mind sharp. Focused on the task at a hand. Something that was a little more difficult with the warm feeling of her hand on his. The action was both comforting and distracting at the same time, although it was nothing out of the ordinary for any normal couple on a romantic night on the town. It was a sweet gesture, even if a little distracting. He compromised, and gave her fingers a soft return squeeze, before gently withdrawing his hands and picking up the drink menu.

There was only the briefest flashes of disappointment across her face, and he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat as he tried to ignore that, and instead look like he was more interested in the menu. If he twisted in his seat a little and tilted the menu just so, he had a perfect view of the table where the meet was going to go down. Across from him, Grey seemed to be trying to actually read the text on what he was holding up.

She let out a quiet noise of disbelief. “That’s a lot of zeroes for a drink.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up briefly. “Wait until you see what they charge for the food.”

“Are all of your undercover missions this extravagant?”

“You know what they say,” Theron shrugged a shoulder, “when on Nar Shadda… blow your entire salary on one bottle of Crème D'Infame.”

“That’s not how I’ve heard that phrase go.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Well, it’s probably more truthful.”

“Perhaps it would be more financially sound to order water.”

Oh, of course. Because that wouldn’t be suspicious _at all_.

Theron finished his fake perusal of the drink menu just as the waiter came up to take their order. Before his financially conscientious companion could speak, he quickly put in a request for some Corellian Twisters. He ignored the frown directed his way, instead made a show of ordering a round of cracknel for an appetizer as if they were settling in for a long evening. Actually, it was possible they were.

Theron checked the chronometer in the HUD on his ocular implants, realizing they still had a wait on their hands. As far as stakeouts went, he’d been on worse ones, with less enjoyable company. With nothing else to do but wait, he should try and repair at least a little of the damage he’d done.

“That was not water.”

“Nope,” he said, “but it’s less likely to attract attention. We’re supposed to be on a _date,_ remember?”

“Is expensive alcoholic drinks usually part of the dating experience?”

“It is for Jonas Balkar.”

“Well, _Jonas_ , you like to throw around money, don’t you?”

“Nothing but the best,” Theron shot her a smirk, “and I figure my old pal wouldn’t mind lending his name out for the sake of galactic security.”

“Old pal, huh? So that’s not just one of your aliases?”

“Hardly!” His bark of laughter seemed to startle her. “He’s a good guy.” Theron paused, then added, “Although if you ever tell him I said that I’ll deny it.”

“I would have to meet him first,” she said with a hint of a smile.

“I don’t know,” he paused, “he’s got a way with the ladies. Not sure I want to deal with the competition.”

That got a roll of the eyes and a resigned sigh. “Do you honestly believe there is something to compete over?”

“Well, considering that at least as far as this restaurant’s concerned, he’s taken you on your first date, maybe.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “ _Theron_.”

He let out a sigh, sending one glance back at the still empty table, before deciding to try out that fabled work-life balance he’d heard people talk about before. Mimicking her action from before, he took her hand in his, brushing his thumb across her knuckles.

“Look. Sometimes I get a little caught up in the job and I forget things I shouldn’t.” He swallowed, mouth a little dry. Perhaps that order of water wasn’t completely impractical. “Normal everyday things. Like taking you to nice places outside of missions.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do,” he said with more conviction, “you deserve more than an absentee boyfriend.”

“You’re not absent,” she said firmly, “you’ve been by my side all these past few months, trying to keep things running. Trying to make the galaxy a better place.”

He couldn’t keep the sheepish smile from forming, although he did his best to smother it quickly before anyone else saw. “Still, it’s kind of a lousy experience for your first date _ever_.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s so bad,” she said, tilting her head with that soft look that had a tendency to make Theron forget what he was arguing about. “I certainly can’t complain about the company.”

There she went again, shorting out his higher brain functions and common sense with nothing more than a look and a few words. It would have been maddening if she didn’t have him completely pulled into her little spell. The harsh lighting of the Promenade was more muted out here on the patio, bathing his dining companion in hues of blue and pink that seemed to accentuate the sparkle in her eyes and the curve of her lips. He was leaning forward without really thinking about it, closing the distance between the two of them.

“Theron—”

“Yeah?” he murmured.

She leaned forward as well, her free hand sinking beneath the table as she fidgeted. “They’re here.”

Her words were like a bucket of cold water being thrown over him, and he nearly bolted upright, but stopped himself at the last moment lest he tip them off. He tried to dart his eyes in the direction of their table, but his position made it difficult. She continued to fidget and squirm under the table with one hand, grimacing as she apparently encountered some sort of trouble.

“What are you _doing_?”

“Taking off these damned heels.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m fairly certain they recognize us. And I refuse to break an ankle because of these death traps.”

Theron risked glancing over, and sure enough, the Nikto and a small pink Nimbanel—probably the buyer—were staring in their direction. As he looked over, the Nikto pointed very emphatically at him. “Damn it!”

The Nikto cursed in Huttese and the Nimbanel very clearly shouted something about the Alliance, just as two golden, spiked pieces of footwear flew at Theron’s face. He caught them and sputtered an incoherent noise that was meant to be a question, but Grey had already leapt to her feet. She had in fact leapt onto her chair, the square set to her shoulders and the ornate silver hilts of her unlit lightsabers already in her hands indicating that she had shifted into Jedi mode.

“Hold on to those for me!”

“But—”

His protest was cut off by a loud crash as the two criminals upended their table throwing it a few meters in the direction of their pursuers before taking off. Without a single thought otherwise, Grey took off after them in a single bound. Her unnatural and graceful leap was fueled by the Force, the flowing skirt of her dress billowing dramatically with the movement as she soared above the overturned table and landed on the one beyond it to the great surprise of an Arconan couple. This was also the moment that Theron belatedly realized he really should have taken a few extra minutes to find a pair of shorts or something else to help cover her propriety, as he and the rest of the patrons of the restaurant caught sight of everything underneath her dress, lacy black garters, undergarments, and all.

“Kriff!” Already several moments behind on the action, he surged to his feet, high heels still in hand. In the heat of the moment, and a little too distracted by the sight of girlfriend accidentally baring more than intended, he forgot about the blaster stowed in the inner pocket of his jacket. “Grey, maybe you shouldn’t—“

He didn’t know why he was shouting, she was clearly not listening to him. She hopped from table to table as if she were an ash rabbit, using the extra height to keep an eye on their quarry. Theron followed as best he could in her wake, occasionally shouting an apology to his fellow patrons as he passed by, and glaring at others who looked as if they were staring up his girlfriend’s skirt. It did not make for a very effective method of giving chase.

He was about halfway across the patio, when he misjudged one of his landings. His foot landed with a wet squish on something, slipping precariously. His arms pinwheeled wildly as he fought to keep his balance.

“Are you serious?” Someone exclaimed. “Right in my salad?”

Theron looked down into the blue face of an especially irritated Wroonian whose plate of artisanal Khoonda salad he’d landed in. The delicate plate the dish had been residing on cracked in half under his weight. A thick violet dressing had splattered across the fine linens covering the table, the tritacale and kibla greens kicked in every direction.

“Sorry,” he said absently as he picked up his foot, trying to fling off the oily dressing that was dripping off his boot and the ruined appetizer scattered across the table and surrounding patio.

“Hey! I was going to eat that!”

“Really? Even after my foot was in it?”

“Maybe,” Salad Guy muttered petulantly. “It cost a lot of credits.”

“You know you can get the same thing at Biscuit Baron for like a tenth of the price.”

“You expect me to eat at _Biscuit Baron_?” Salad Guy shrieked, yellow irises typical of the Wroonian species going wide in foodie umbrage.

“Suck it up, wuppa, I’ve got bad guys to catch.”

He decided to ignore the indignant patron and focused on trying to find his quarry amongst the chaos of the restaurant. He spied them a few more tables over where Grey had caught the larger of the two fugitives. Theron couldn’t suppress the surge of pride when he saw that she had the Nikto pinned face down in some poor patron’s soup bowl, her bare foot pressing into his leathery neck. That was his girl.

A flash of pink beyond her grabbed his attention, and he could see the Nimbanel bringing a blaster pistol to bear. Without even thinking about what he was doing, Theron hurled one of the objects in his hand at the threat. The golden spikes of the high heels beamed the alien between his two bulbous eyes and he let out a cry of distress. A deep thrum echoed across the patio as Grey activated her lightsaber and pointed it directly at the Nimbanel’s face, who raised his hands in defeat.

She tilted her head back in Theron’s direction with the hints of a smile. “Thank you.”

He flashed her a smirk. “Anytime.”

“I have to admit, those work far better as a projectile weapon than footwear.”

“Did… did you just _throw_ a shoe?” The Wroonian sputtered.

“Shut up, Salad Guy! No one asked you!”

“I believe you have something that doesn’t belong to you,” Grey said firmly.

He let out something in Huttese that sounded like an angry denial, and she put a little more pressure on the Nikto’s neck. After a moment of sputtering in the bowl of soup, he reluctantly pulled a data cylinder from his pocket. She grabbed it with her free hand and tossed it across the distance to Theron, who caught it easily. Without preamble he plugged it into his datapad and quickly decrypted its contents.

“Is that it?” she asked.

His custom code made short work of the decryption, and he quickly glanced through the contents of the data spike. He had to press his lips together to keep from laughing as all of the tension drained out of him from the start of this whole ordeal. It was the coordinates to their outpost on Lysatra—apparently someone had mistaken their activities there as the main base. They would still have to evacuate the outpost just as a precaution to prevent any fallout on the local populace. But Odessen was still safe. Thank the stars.

“We’re good,” he called as he pocketed the datapad and the spike.

“Excellent news.” Grey activated her other lightsaber and pointing it at the Nikto, raising her foot from his neck him before he drowned in the bowl of soup. “Do not try and leave, gentlemen. My agents have a few more questions for you.”

Veeroa was already on her way, and Theron was happy to turn the interrogation duties over to her and the rest of the Nar Shaddaa resistance cell. It was just clean up work at this point, and it had been a long day as it was.

“Does your friend realize that we can all see those garters and up her—”

“Keep your eyes on your food!” Theron snapped.

“Your foot’s still in it!”

“I still have one high heel left,” he warned, “do you want to test me, Salad Guy?”

“My name is Phred!”

“I don’t care!”

Theron brandished the weaponized footwear menacingly at the poor beleaguered patron, who wisely decided to drop his gaze lest he further offend the lunatic ruining his dinner. Over at the end of the patio, the victim of the first shoe rubbed his forehead and groaned miserably.

“What I don’t get,” Theron mused aloud, “is how these two recognized us so quickly.”

“Chut chut uba na joka?” The Nikto shook his head. The rough translation of that was, “You’re kidding, right?”

Both Theron and Grey frowned, and the Nikto waved a hand angrily in Theron’s direction, spitting out the word “baopah”.

Baopah. Huttese for _jacket_.

Grey translated the word at the same time it clicked in Theron’s brain, and let out a triumphant, “Hah! Told you!”

“Really,” the Nikto muttered, “you couldn’t change into something else?”

“It’s not that distinctive of a jacket!”

“It’s red!” The Nimbanel chimed in, still massaging his forehead. “It’s like you’re waving a giant flag saying ‘look at me’!”

“Plenty of people wear the color red!” Theron protested.

“The triangles on it look like an arrow pointing at your head and that ridiculous haircut,” Salad Phred said, still looking pointedly at the table lest he get maimed by a shoe. “It’s like you _want_ everyone to notice you.”

“I thought it looked more like a hazard symbol,” the Nikto added oh-so-helpfully in Huttese.

The spy wrinkled his nose and glared at the Wroonian, then the bad guys, and then the Jedi smiling just a little _too_ serenely at him.

“Quick poll!” He snapped to the restaurant at large. “Anyone who thinks my jacket is extremely eye catching and distracting raise your hand!”

About half of the hands of the patrons watching the proceedings raised their hands, including Salad Phred. Both of the captured criminals did the same, and Grey quickly moved her foot back to the Nikto’s neck so she could raise her hand as well, lightsaber still lit.

“Really?” He said to her, trying to keep the hurt from his tone. “You’re agreeing with the bad guys?”

She simply shrugged. “You asked for honesty.”

Theron snorted out an angry breath, but before he could defend his beloved jacket any further, the Kroctari maitre’d burst out onto the patio, looking at the chaos wreaked upon his five star restaurant aghast.

“Y-you monsters…” The maitre’d wheezed. “Look w-what you’ve done to my restaurant!”

“Um, Commander,” Theron said, “perhaps we should take our citizens’ arrest and… go.”

Theron quickly hopped off the table and hauled the Nimbanel to his feet. The injured alien shrunk away from the high heel that Theron still held in his hand, apparently not ready to feel the wrath of the other half of the pair. Grey deactivated and stowed her lightsabers and leapt down from the table. She pulled the Nikto along with her as they both beat a hasty retreat.

“Jonas Balkar,” the maitre’d shouted at their retreating backs, “you’re forever banned from this restaurant!”

“Uh oh,” Grey muttered.

“Eh, he’ll be okay,” Theron hedged. “He’s got a dozen hook-up joints like this.”

“And I’ll make sure your name is blacklisted on every high-class eatery on this planet! You’re ruined here!”

“Oops,” he muttered, and then shrugged. “Ah, well. Guess he’ll have to kick his seduction game up a notch.”

“You have very peculiar friends,” she said simply.

The corner of his mouth crooked up in a half-grin. “I like to keep things interesting.”

“Speaking of interesting,” Grey said over the shouts of the maitre’d, “how does tonight compare to your other first dates?”

As they continued to herd their prisoners across the Promenade, Theron tried to give that some serious thought. The date portion of the evening was really a mission cover for them to try and recover stolen intel and had quickly gone awry and turned into a high-adrenaline chase. They’d wreaked havoc on one of the fanciest restaurants on the planet, Theron had weaponized a piece of footwear, his date had taken out a dangerous criminal with her bare feet, and they’d gotten themselves banned from ever returning. Or well, they’d gotten _Jonas_ banned.

Theron couldn’t help but grin, and answered in complete honesty. “Best first date I’ve ever had.”


End file.
